


Like the sky is new

by zipadeea



Series: The Anya chronicles [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Long Hair, Long-Haired Katsuki Yuuri, M/M, Post-Canon, Sickfic, Yuuri has long hair, also swearing b/c yurio, that's it that's the fic, viktor loves it so much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-08-01 09:52:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16282370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zipadeea/pseuds/zipadeea
Summary: In Japan, Yuuri's mother always cut his hair. In Detroit, Phichit always ended up dragging Yuuri along with him to the barber.Yuuri kind of forgets that haircuts are a thing when he moves to St. Petersburg.Viktor certainly isn't going to be the one to remind him.





	Like the sky is new

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [【授权翻译】全新视角](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17939123) by [BlessingsAndMuffin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlessingsAndMuffin/pseuds/BlessingsAndMuffin)



> Let's be real Yuuri's hair was definitely longer at the end of ep. 12. And I think Viktor would definitely very much enjoy long-haired Katsuki Yuuri. So I wrote about it. It's basically all fluff with dabbles of swearing. And a religious reference I guess? Lol hope you like it. 
> 
> Title is from the song 'I See the Light' in Tangled because reasons hahaha.

“God, katsudon, _here,_ ” Yuri growls, skating over and flicking the band off his wrist, holding it out. Yuuri stares at it, completely perplexed, before Yuri snaps the band in his face.  

“It’s for your hair. Fucking pull it back already,” Yuri continues. When he doesn’t immediately reach to take the band, Yuri lets out a huff and shoves Yuuri into a crouch with a hand on his shoulder, before (surprisingly) gently pulling back Yuuri’s hair and tying it in a ponytail.  

“Thanks, Yurio,” Yuuri says softly as he stands up, hand reaching back to feel the short ponytail. He hadn’t even realized how long his hair was getting, but Yuuri can’t deny the fact that having it out of his face finally is already much more comfortable.  

Yuri rolls his eyes. “Whatever, pig. I’m just tired of watching Viktor swoon every time you flip your ridiculous hair back. Get a haircut, got it? It’s bad enough having two Yuris competing, we can’t fucking have two Yuris with long hair! Stop copying me.” 

But Yuri can’t quite hide the smirk on his face when he says it.  

000 

“Hey, Viktor?” Yuuri asks that night, rolling his head up from Viktor’s shoulder to stare at his face.  

“Hmmm?” Viktor hums softly, fingertips running lazily up and down Yuuri’s back, not taking his eyes away from the Russian soap opera on the TV.  

“Where do you get your hair cut? I need--,” 

Yuuri likes to think he knows Viktor Nikiforov. Knows him very, very well. He’s known the facts, the favorite colors and places and foods and animals, the type of cologne he wears, that he prefers to swim for cross-training over run, the holidays he most enjoys, etc. from very careful study of all available interview materials since Yuuri was twelve years old.  

But now, now Yuuri knows that Viktor sings in the shower, sings very loudly and very badly (Yuuri loves it so much it hurts). Now he knows Viktor takes his coffee with sugar but no milk and does the weird Russian jam with tea thing and hates when his food touches on his plate. He knows Viktor’s kisses taste like cinnamon and his hands are always dry and cold and easy to hold and he’s got a sensitive spot on his neck that when Yuuri bites down and _sucks_ \-- 

Yuuri thinks he knows Viktor Nikiforov pretty well.  

So when Viktor jumps up from the couch, very nearly shoving Yuuri to the floor before wrapping his arms tightly around Yuuri’s neck and clawing his long pianist fingers into Yuuri’s scalp and yelping, “NO!” with an absolute panic glowing in his blue eyes, well, Yuuri’s pretty surprised.  

But, he supposes, that’s another Viktor fact Yuuri was rather stupid to forget.  

Viktor loves surprising people. Yuuri most of all.  

“Vitya, what the hell?” Yuuri gasps out, trying and failing to dislodge Viktor’s perfectly manicured claws where they’ve tangled themselves into his hair.  

“No, Yuuri, no no no absolutely not,” Viktor wails. “You can’t cut your hair! No no no no no no!”  

“Viktor, Yurio gave me a hair tie today. It’s too long, it’s getting in the way--,” 

“But it’s so _beautiful!”_ Viktor says earnestly, hands still digging protectively into Yuuri’s scalp, as though Yuuri has just threatened to run to the kitchen and cut his hair with a knife.  

Yuuri rolls his eyes, because his hair is black and thick and much too long and looks like a rat’s nest when he wakes up in the morning and is pressed down and slicked by cold sweat most days and his ponytail today looked like an absurd little nub and-- 

“Ugh, I miss my long hair so much, and you’d look so _good_ with long hair, Yuuri, it’s so thick and it would be so smooth and _shiny_ , oh my God, you don’t even understand...” 

Viktor Nikiforov is jealous. Of Yuuri’s hair.  

Not for the first time, Yuuri wishes he had a time machine.  

(Then again, pre-pubescent Yuuri would probably have a heart attack on the spot upon hearing such a beautiful and outlandish story, and then this future wouldn’t exist so...) 

“Viktor, why don’t you just grow out your hair again if you miss it so much?” Yuuri asks, as Viktor finally releases his hair and pets it reverently, brushing out the tangles with his fingers.  

Viktor sighs then, and removes one hand from Yuuri’s hair to lay the back of his wrist across his forehead and lean back with his eyes closed like the dramatic bastard he is. “It is impossible with my condition, my love. Your ignorance wounds me.” 

“Your _condition_ —Vitya, it’s not like you’re dying, for God’s sake--,” 

“But my hair is!” Viktor wails again. “It’s going to thin then fall out completely and be dead dead dead and if I have long hair at that point in the ever looming future I’ll look like _Yakov_!”  

The unfortunate thing is, Viktor’s not wrong.  

“Why did you cut your hair in the first place?” Yuuri asks quickly, unwilling to allow Viktor continue on the former train of thought.  

Viktor sighs again, but this time he hears the ache behind it and Yuuri finally wraps his arms back around Viktor, resting his head on his shoulder.  

Viktor continues petting his fingers through Yuuri’s hair. “I’m not immune to cruel people. I especially wasn’t when I was seventeen.” Viktor says it shortly, simply, shrugging his shoulders. It makes Yuuri’s heart hurt. “I regretted cutting it immediately, especially for such a _stupid_ reason, but it’s not like I could take it back. Just had to go with it...” 

Silence.  

Yuuri takes a deep breath. “You really think I’d look good with long hair?”  

Viktor’s answering smile is blinding.  

“Darling, this is going to be _marvelous._ ” 

000 

By the time the Grand Prix Series begins, Yuuri’s hair is down to his shoulders.  

“Mr. Katsuki, is your hair a tribute to your fiance--,” 

“Were you inspired by--,” 

“Is this a statement for--,” 

“Yuuri, what conditioner--,” 

“No comment,” Viktor says with a wink, ushering Yuuri away. Seems the world is much more interested by Yuuri’s new hairstyle than by the new gold medal around his neck.  

Yuuri thinks he should probably care more, be at least a little offended at being objectified in such a way.  

But Viktor jumps in the shower with him once they get back to their hotel room, washing Yuuri’s hair gently and lovingly with his long slender fingers and Yuuri decides he doesn’t really mind at all.  

000 

“I’m cutting it all off,” Yuuri moans, voice echoing hollowly from the bowl of the toilet. “It’s so _gross,_ ” because Yuuri can smell it, the bits and chunks of chicken and broccoli and the chocolate bar he may or may not have snitched yesterday and puked back up spectacularly, now caught up in the long strands of hair trailing down to his collarbone.  

“Shhh, it’s alright,” Viktor whispers, dropping to his knees beside Yuuri and gathering all of Yuuri’s hair at the base on his neck. “It’s alright, love, just get it out.” 

So Yuuri retches again. And again. And again.  

And Viktor somehow magically finds a hair tie and gets Yuuri’s hair in a ponytail, quickly wets a washcloth and cleans the barf out of his hair as best he can, rubbing Yuuri’s back all the while.  

“The final’s in a _week,_ Viktor,” Yuuri whispers. He can feel the tears in his eyes, “Our flight’s in two days. I can’t be sick, oh my God. Oh my God,  _Vitya_ \--,” 

“Shhh, Yuuri, it’s alright. It’ll be alright.”  

Yuuri pukes up bile twice more before Viktor gets a glass of water in his shaking hands and makes him take small sips. He tries to make Yuuri drink more, but Yuuri just shakes his head and cries a little more because everything aches and his stomach really hurts and the water he just drank is probably going to come back up within the hour.  

Eventually Viktor gets Yuuri to his feet and practically carries him back to bed, before grabbing a trashcan from the bathroom and setting it on Yuuri’s side. He gets another glass of water for Yuuri’s nightstand and tucks him under the covers before kissing his forehead, checking for fever and giving comfort all at once.  

“You should go sleep in the other room,” Yuuri says softly as Viktor settles himself under the covers. “We can’t both be sick, somebody has to--,” 

Then Viktor kisses him, full on the lips, sick as a dog and definitely tasting of puke and bile and sweat with straggles of vomit-smelling hair in his face and a desperately cold nose.  

“No point leaving now,” Viktor whispers, pulling Yuuri into his chest.  

000 

Yuuri wins gold at the Grand Prix Final.  

Viktor wins silver and calls up a wedding planner.  

(He also finally succumbs to Yuuri’s flu two days later. They miss their flight back to St. Petersburg.  

“You’ll keep your hair long for the wedding, right, my Yuuri?” Viktor says, curled up in a ball on the bathroom floor, still inexplicably _smiling_ of all things. Yuuri just sits there and rubs his back, trying and failing to hide his own smile.) 

000 

“Sloppy!” an angry voice shouts behind Yuuri. He whips around to find Yurio at his shoulder, the boy tugging painful at the hasty bun on his head. “Sloppy, sloppy. You can’t fucking skate like _this._ ”  

“Like what?” 

Yuri glares. Yuuri’s just glad he’s talking to him again; Yurio was not pleased being demoted to bronze from his golden Grand Prix debut. “Like you just got out of fucking bed. Your hair’s properly long now katsudon, you gotta fucking look presentable at least. Sit down.” 

“We’re on the ice, Yurio--,” 

“I said sit down.” Yuuri sits down. Yuri tears the bun and tie quickly out of Yuuri’s hair before brushing the tangles away and splitting his hair into three sections. He braids it simply down Yuuri’s back, fingers fast and masterful before tying off the end and giving the long braid a tug.  

“There. Now you at least look halfway decent. I can’t believe Vitya even let you leave the house like that.” 

Yuuri rolls his eyes. “I mean, my bun didn’t look so bad when we left--,” 

“Braids are better.” Yuri says firmly. Yuuri bites his lip to keep from smiling as he notices the thin braid crossing the top of Yurio’s head like a crown.  

“You’re right. Braids are better.”  

000 

Yuuri retires when he is 28, after his fourth consecutive gold at Worlds. Viktor tries, and fails, to get Yuuri to stay on one more season and tie his own record. That is Viktor’s achievement, and Viktor’s alone. Yuuri doesn’t want to touch it.  

A week after he officially retires, Yuuri goes to get a haircut.  

“Yuuri, NO!” Viktor wails when Yuuri tells him. “Your hair, your beautiful, wonderful hair--,” 

“Vitya, it’s time. New hairstyle for a new chapter, yeah? And my long hair is going to be such a bother on all those trips we have planned.” 

Viktor wipes away a tear. “You’ve been my Samson, and now, my dear, you’ve become Delilah.” 

“Vitya, what the fuck?”  

“Nothing, nothing,” Viktor says quickly, grabbing the hairbrush and settling himself on the edge of the bed, “One more time? Please?”  

Yuuri smiles. “Just because I’ll have short hair doesn’t mean you can’t brush it still.” But Yuuri sits down and leans back, closing his eyes as Viktor brushes through his long hair one last time.  

000 

“Hey Daddy?”  

“Hmmm?” Yuuri hums, not looking up from the wet tangle of golden curls he’s attempting to gently separate.  

“My hair’s getting so long, and it tangles so easy with all the curls. I think I should probably get it cut shorter--,” 

“ANYA, _NO!_ ” Yuuri yelps, hands immediately covering his daughter’s head, attempting to protect her hair from the imaginary scissors she’s already pressed into his heart. “You _can’t_ , oh good God, your hair is so pretty and lovely and wonderful you absolutely cannot ever in a million years cut such wonderful hair. Vitya!”  

Viktor runs in Anya’s room at Yuuri’s desperate cry.  

“What is it? What’s wrong, are you--,” 

“Papa, all I did was tell Daddy I wanted a haircut,” Anya relays, still obviously confused.  

And Viktor Nikiforov, that elegant bastard, he just smirks, and points a long finger straight at Yuuri.  

“This is payback.”  

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I know Georgi's girlfriend is Anya. I just like the name. We'll just pretend she was already named Anya before they adopted her, and Georgi worked through all feelings by then. Hope you enjoyed the story :)


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